


Safehouse Games

by eternalsojourn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Ficlet, Fluff, Injury, M/M, Monopoly (Board Game), Pre-Slash, Silly, Tumblr Prompt, and there's whisky, idek this isn't even comedy, it's just a bit silly, minor injury, not much though, safehouse, there's always whisky when I write Eames, they're just a bit tipsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://eternalsojourn.tumblr.com/post/91306903775/arthur-eames-ficlet-for-authocracy">Tumblr prompt</a>:</p><p>authocracy prompted - Could I have an A/E where (based on that post of crazy AUs floating around) they play monopoly?? I could see a 'they get bored on a job and their relationship starts with heated monopoly 'cheating' arguments', but I could also really see one of them totally losing on purpose to Keep The Romance Alive. *laughs* I dunno, obviously you take it where you want it, but I'd love A/E+ monopoly in some fashion!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safehouse Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [authocracy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/authocracy/gifts).



“Aw, fantastic!” Eames exclaimed from the sitting room.

Arthur hung up the phone. He’d been speaking with his London contact, Sy, who told him in no uncertain terms that while their safehouse was still secure, they were not okay to leave yet. No, Sy didn’t know when that might be. Sy had been entirely too amused to say, “You might as well settle in, mate. Learn to cook. Get cozy. It could be a while yet.” Arthur was grateful to Sy for the safehouse, but he kind of wanted to punch the man in the face right about then.

“Tell me you have good news, Eames, because I don’t.”

“Come in here. I found some board games!” Eames said, pulling them out one by one and stacking them up beside him. He sat on a footstool, grimacing at having to bend over his bandaged torso, but apparently undeterred by his injury.

From the door Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. Absolutely not. This is a bad idea.”

Eames looked up and frowned. “What’s your news?”

“That was Sy. Seems we’re shut-ins for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh. Shit.” Eames sat up and his shoulder slumped a little. “Fucking typical. Well, this was well timed then, wasn’t it? At least now we have something to do.” His eyebrows went up hopefully.

“I’m not interested in playing board games. No way.” Arthur tossed the phone on the sofa but stayed where he was.

“What? Why not? You just said we’re stuck here anyway. It’s a way to pass the time.”

“No, you don’t get it. I don’t play board games. I haven’t for years.” Arthur glared, hoping that would be enough. Of course it wouldn’t be. Eames had a keen sense of Arthur’s sore spots and poked and prodded until Arthur growled like a grouchy bear.

Eames smirked knowingly. “Are you a sore loser, Arthur?”

“No,” Arthur shot. He sighed. “No, I don’t mind losing. I like winning, but I’m not a dick about it.” He moved to the big club chair and flumped down in it. “People just stopped playing with me. I guess I’m… a stickler. For the rules.”

Eames’s laughter bubbled up, then he winced but carried on chuckling. “You argued a lot, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, so what? Anyway, I don’t want to play with you, and trust me when I say you probably don’t want to play with me. So just drop it, all right? Let’s… I don’t know. Watch a movie or something.”

“We’ve been here ten days, Arthur. I’ve seen more movies in ten days than I’ve seen in the past three years. Come on, get over yourself, you poncy twat, and play Monopoly with me.”

Arthur barked out a surprised laugh. “Poncy twat?”

Eames grinned. “Is that a yes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But is it a yes?”

Arthur lolled his head to the side and rolled it to the back of the chair. “Fine. Go get us some beers and I’ll set it up.”

“But I’m injured,” Eames said.

“You weren’t injured enough to keep yourself from poking around the cupboards of this place, you’re not injured enough to get beer. Don’t make me change my mind.”

Eames, for a change, didn’t bother getting in the last word and got up to go to the kitchen.

***

“Oh no. No no no no no. I get the racecar,” Arthur said as Eames picked it up.

Affronted, Eames closed his fist around the token. “You aren’t even that interested in cars.”

“What? Of course I am. Besides, I’m _always_ the car. Give it.” Arthur shoved his hand out palm up.

“Excuse you, I’ve never known you to show any interest in cars, whereas I’ve been keen on cars since I was a boy. Besides, I got it first.”

Arthur, clearly battling his dual desires to get his way and to be an adult about it, pressed his lips together. Lifting his chin in an effort to appear dignified, he reached in the box for the battleship. The movement was rather too violent to be described as “dignified”.

***

“I’d forgotten how long these games take to get going.” Eames picked up his mug to take another sip of beer but found it empty. He thunked it on the dining room table and frowned at the board. “Can’t we just flip a coin for each property on the board?”

Arthur shot Eames an eloquent look, one that summed up his disdain at the suggestion, his knowledge that Eames was just trying to get a rise out of him, and implied the bodily harm that would come to Eames if he continued to press that button.

Eames stood with a troublesome twinkle in his eye and took both his and Arthur’s beer glasses. He returned a few minutes later with two full beer glasses and two whiskies. Arthur raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and took them.

***

Some time later, Arthur had been to jail three times and Eames had two monopolies already. Arthur frowned and grunted.

“Problem?” Eames asked, delicately taking a sip of his whisky.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it but you’re cheating.”

Eames’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been here the entire time. You’d have seen if I tried to cheat.”

Arthur said nothing, knowing he’d have to either admit he’d missed something right under his nose, or admit his accusations were wrong. He rolled again.

***

Around the time Eames started reaching over and taking his money right from the bank, Arthur lost his cool. He smacked Eames’s wrist, spilling a bit of the beer he’d been holding in his other hand in the process. The fact that it was his fourth probably had a little to do with it.

“Cut it out! The banker’s supposed to distribute the money.”

“Well, the banker should have been getting his own bloody drinks instead of letting the injured patient do all the getting,” Eames replied, swatting Arthur in return and grabbing the money.

“I offered!” Arthur grumbled and snatched the money out of Eames’s hand to count it quickly before handing it back.

“How did you get so much money anyway? You palmed it when you poured my drink, didn’t you?”

“Arthur, I do believe you’re besmirching my good name. I have no need to cheat, thank you. You’re abysmal enough at this, you’ve removed any need.”

“Uh,” Arthur huffed in a mock laugh. “Where do I begin with all of _that_. I’m a great player, and you’re a known cheat, so don’t even start with me.”

“No, you’re rubbish.”

Arthur did laugh then, partly at the absurdity of it, partly at Eames’s boyish grin.

“You’re impossible,” he said.

“So are you.” Eames toyed with his glass a moment. “While the game is clearly tipped heavily in my favour, I think we may have reached an emotional stalemate.”

“The game is only in your favour because you cheated.”

Eames sniffed, then took a sip of whisky. “Call it a draw?”

“I’d prefer we put it away and never speak of it again, actually.”

***

“You were right.” Eames wasn’t slurring but Arthur had known Eames long enough to recognize he was definitely not sober.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever uttered _those_ words to me,” Arthur said, nudging his socked foot in a half-hearted kick to Eames’s shin. It was nice: firm, warm. He was hazily aware that the touching wasn’t something he did when he was sober, and he was also aware that he was half-heartedly planning to see how many instances he could manufacture to get a little drunk with Eames as long as they were trapped in hiding. He felt a little devious and a little loose and a lot interested in figuring out how to do more of this touching. After all, maybe it was because Arthur was a little more adult this time, but it was the first time a boardgame hadn’t ended with the other person yelling and leaving in a huff. That had to be encouraging for their relationship. Right?

“The boardgame was a bad idea. I seem to remember them being a lot more fun.”

“Mm. I don’t know. Wasn’t as bad as I remember.” Arthur leaned forward to put his empty glass on the far side of the table, lifting off a little from the sofa. When he came back, he settled just a little closer. “Hey Eames?”

“Mm.” Eames rested his head on his fist on the arm of the sofa, giving Arthur a lazy, sleepy look. Neither were paying any attention to the gritty crime drama on the tv.

“You totally cheated, didn’t you?”

Eames’s slow grin earned him a hard punch in the thigh that did nothing to diminish his mirth.

**End**


End file.
